


No More Spankings

by silentdescant



Series: Snapshots [5]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Light Dom/sub, Light-Hearted, M/M, Mild Kink, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:19:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8185271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: In the past two weeks, Mitch has taken to slapping the asses of, well, almost everybody. Scott, definitely. Mostly Scott, actually.





	

**Author's Note:**

> KINKtober Day 1: Spanking

In the past two weeks, Mitch has taken to slapping the asses of, well, almost everybody. Scott, definitely. Mostly Scott, actually, but sometimes Avi and Kevin. Esther too, though not Kirstie, at least not that Scott’s witnessed. A few crew people he’s particularly close with, and Nicole once that Scott’s seen. Scott categorically does not understand it. He doesn’t see the appeal, and he isn’t interested in the victims’ squeals of shock or delight. He compares it privately to tickling Mitch, but Mitch’s reactions are infinitely more amusing than anyone else’s have been.

They’re in Mitch’s hotel room, Scott bending over to dig through the minibar, when Mitch passes by and smacks his ass like it’s second nature, like they’ve been doing this for years, like this is an established part of their relationship.

Scott rounds on him and tackles him to the bed, hands immediately going to Mitch’s wrists to keep him from struggling. But Mitch doesn’t struggle. Instead he flashes a bright grin and wiggles his hips, finding a comfortable angle for their bodies to slot together.

Scott’s always careful with Mitch. Even now, on top of him, it’s instinctual to keep his weight distributed, balanced mostly on his knees on either side of Mitch’s hips, and on his hands clenched tight around Mitch’s wrists. He’s always been bigger than Mitch, always been stronger, always held himself back. He’s all too aware that he could crush Mitch under him, under his hands and his weight, could hurt him if he’s not careful.

“What is wrong with you lately?” he asks. He loosens his grip on Mitch’s bony wrists because Mitch isn’t struggling, isn’t pulling, isn’t even twisting to test Scott’s hold. He’s waiting, calm and placid, hands upturned and fingers loosely curled.

“Nothing,” Mitch replies. He sounds smug and his lips are stretched into a grin.

“Stop hitting me,” Scott tells him.

“Okay.”

“Where did this even come from?”

Mitch’s shoulders shift into a contorted shrug and his entire body relaxes even more. Scott didn’t think it possible, but it’s like Mitch melts underneath him, tension leaving him completely.

Scott stares down at him, at his hazy eyes and beatific smile. He gets the sense that Mitch is waiting, has been waiting, and Scott doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. He studies Mitch’s face for clues but finds nothing conclusive. Nothing that doesn’t reek of quiet, content stillness. Waiting.

“What do you want from me?” he asks quietly.

“What do you think?”

Scott lets out a forceful sigh of frustration. “If I knew, I wouldn’t ask.”

After a few seconds, Mitch’s lips twist into a conspiratorial smirk. “You should give me a taste of my own medicine,” he says in an undertone. A secret. A hint.

His own medicine. Like a lightbulb flashing on in his brain, Scott puts the pieces together and understands. “You’re goading me,” he says. Mitch’s eyes shine bright and Scott doesn’t need a reply.

He shuffles backward off the bed and Mitch stays exactly where Scott leaves him, his hands resting calmly on the pillow above his head. He’s waiting, still. Waiting to see what Scott will do, now that he understands.

Scott hooks his fingers into the waistband of Mitch’s jeans and underwear and yanks them down a few inches, enough to expose the top of his ass. He manhandles Mitch onto his stomach before pulling the clothes down further. Mitch is half off the bed now, and his feet find purchase on the thin hotel carpet.

His ass is hanging out of his pants and he’s still fucking _waiting_ , he’s been waiting, he’s been waiting a while, from what Scott understands. Scott doesn’t keep him waiting any longer. He flattens his hand and slaps his open palm down on Mitch’s bare ass. Pink blooms where the hit landed but it’s not enough to mark him.

Scott sees the appeal, now. At least with Mitch. At least with Mitch’s pale skin. He stares at Mitch’s ass and finds himself drawing his arm back, coiling for another slap. This one’s harder, more forceful. It makes a solid, sharp noise it when it connects. This time Mitch gasps and moans and squirms.

“All this time, you just wanted someone to return the favor,” Scott muses.

“Not someone. You.”

Mitch’s legs are locked together, bound by the jeans still buttoned around his thighs, and his toes slip against the carpet. Scott swoops to the rescue, sitting on the bed and quickly pulling Mitch over his lap. Now Mitch is balanced on Scott’s knees, more stable with Scott’s hand against his back.

Scott brings his hand down again and they both gasp at the sting. Scott’s palm is already protesting. He wishes he had one of those flat-back hairbrushes. He squeezes Mitch’s ass, bringing more color to the surface of his skin. Mitch moans. Somehow his arms are still lax and he’s resting face-first on the bed.

“You were just waiting for me to notice,” Scott says. He spanks Mitch again. It’s fun, now. It’s fascinating to watch the color appear. “Hoping I’d hit you back.”

He can’t see Mitch’s smile, but he can hear the happy satisfaction in Mitch’s voice when Mitch sighs and says, “Yeah.” Scott slaps him again. For his tone and because he clearly wants it. Craves it like Scott craves the warmth of his touch, the pliancy of his kisses. Mitch already grants him so much, gives him free reign over his body, but Scott never thought to ask for this. Never thought to try.

Mitch rocks his hips against Scott’s knee and says, “Took you long enough.”

Scott grins. It doesn’t matter that Mitch can’t see it. They’re in for a delightfully rough night.

 

 _fin_.


End file.
